Beacon Of Hope
by Blueberry Absinth
Summary: The Avatar brought hope both to the other Nations and Zuko... Zuko-centric, no pairings


**Hmm, it didn't turn out the way I imagined it... I think it's the lack of sleep xD This is my first Avatar fic~ Figured I should try writing the characters before writing any pairings, nihiiii C: **

**Warning: Confusing and weird. No pairings, but I feel a lot of innuendo xD**

**And, as always, I don't own Avatar

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Before his exile, Prince Zuko rarely thought about the Avatar.

Back then, to him the Avatar was someone very powerful, more powerful than any firebender (tch, something like that could not be true; everyone knew firebenders were the most powerful benders in the world), someone who could take their empire down for a second and return to the old ways (but the old ways were but a myth now. How could you return to the time of myths?). An enemy of his father, so an enemy of his. But at the same time a distant entity, more like dream rather than reality.

Then he was exiled.

"Don't return to me unless you have the Avatar," his father said as he shooed him, his own first born, to the worst of fates.

From that day, the Avatar had taken an enormous role in his life. For almost half a year now he had been the price that needed to be paid for his return as a prince. He had been the hunted, his resolve to continue living; his last hope.

Irony was cruel: for the people outside the Fire Nation, the Avatar was supposed to be a _/the only/_ beacon of hope, albeit a hundred years late. He was a light in their minds, a lost promise for better times.

Zuko laughed at those idiots.

They couldn't see that their prized Avatar didn't care for them. Why else would he disappear for a hundred years? Why did he leave them?

Zuko hated people like that.

…

They had a captain who was chasing a dream and yet they didn't say anything.

For a firebender honour was one of the most important things in life. They understood their captain's desire to catch the Avatar – to regain his honour and place in the Fire Nation. They understood and pretended not to hear his screams late at night.

…

Iroh watched his nephew wilt before him and cursed that he couldn't help the lost boy.

He was so focused on regaining his honour that he didn't listen to what his rational mind told him. He had always had that stupid inferiority complex and that desire to prove his worth in his father's eyes. It blinded him to the point of almost being crazy.

And that Avatar hunt. That was the cruelest thing Iroh's brother could have done. To send his first born to search for a legend while he had to be happy to have his son alive and well…

It had been obvious that Iroh had to be the father for Zuko, something he was happy to do but unhappy to have to do.

But he hadn't thought it would go that far; he had never thought that Zuko would start having nightmares.

…

Nights used to be soft and comforting and quiet. Only under the shroud of the night, Zuko could relax and be content while during the day he had to fight (figuratively and not so figuratively) to get his father's attention. Only at night he could forget all those worries, his inferiority complex and everything else. Despite everything he would sleep soundly.

Now it was different. The night was darker, gone were the calm, warm fires of the Fire Nation.

And the dreams.

Zuko wouldn't call them nightmares – even if he often woke up screaming and sweating. No, he wouldn't call them nightmares because that'd mean he had been defeated.

There were all kinds of _dreams_ pestering him but in the end they all came down to one thing: the Avatar. A faceless entity, a shadow standing before the exiled prince, mocking him, making fun of his helplessness, asking him how someone lost for a hundred years could be found in such a way. It would laugh at him and then fade.

Then the image of his father would appear. There were different words, different sentences, but all of them carried the sense of "You're worthless, you better go die in a corner, don't bother with-"

…

His uncle was seated outside, in the cool air, cupping his tea almost tenderly. He gently drank from his cup and grinned at the steaming substance. He was happy, despite having followed his exiled nephew to a very uncomfortable journey – a choice Zuko couldn't understand but was happy for nonetheless.

The old man wasn't built to be on such a journey; he was of old age now, despite being the Dragon of the West. He wasn't supposed to be put on such stress.

No, Zuko decided, his uncle was already too tired (though he didn't show it), too stressed. He shouldn't tell him anything about his nightmares.

…

Sometimes there were nice dreams. Zuko would have captured the Avatar, the same old shadow in chains now, unable to do anything but throw insults at him (and he'd realize that all it'd done was that – bark but never bite). His father would beam at him, a proud look in his eyes and his sister would be green with jealousy but he'd never gloat in front of her (oh, snap, he actually did.)

Together they'd take the Avatar to a public place and torture him. Not behead or something else because that'd mean it'd only resurrect in the Earth Nation. The point was to show the people of the Fire Nation that the supposed saviour of the world was in their hands; that they were the sublime rulers of this world.

And his father would lovingly pet his cheek with a bloodied hand and smile like a true father with his face smeared with blood.

Sometimes Zuko was more afraid of his good dreams than his bad ones.

...

"Uncle, can I ask you a question?" said a very embarrassed Zuko. In the end, he hadn't been able to get over his nightmares and he had sought out his uncle's help. The situation was making him very confused and somehow it made him uncomfortable.

"All I can help you with are tea and advice. You can ask me everything, nephew," his uncle replied warmly.

That didn't calm Zuko down. He was fidgety and he was sweating and he didn't know why - it wasn't that bad, was it? He was just going to ask his uncle for some advice or just some words to comfort him. Yep. That wasn't hard at all.

_Yeah, right. _

"Uncle, have you been in this situation," he scratched his neck; how to explain it? "You'va been so intent on doing something... Mmm, the thought of it hasn't left your mind and you've even started dreaming about it?" his words were overlapping each other, trying to leave his mouth as fast as possible. The end result was something between a mumble and a hasty remark. However, his uncle understood him, nodding slightly in thought.

"Aha," he drawled on, "That. Yes, nephew, I've dreamed about achieving what I'm fighting for. It's only natural. When we were attacking Ba Sing Se, I dreamed about walking in those streets as a victor. Every night. It felt nice when I was asleep but it wasn't that nice when I woke up. And then..."

He didn't finish but Zuko understood. His head bowed in hidden shame. His uncle had unclosed wounds, he would never forgive his son's death. Zuko didn't have to pour salt on them. He forced a small smile which felt more like a grimace.

"I get it. Thanks, Uncle."

…

During the day, exiled prince Zuko was awake; he had to control everyone and steer the bunch of fire nation soldiers into the right direction. He had to be sure everything was all right, he had to be sure that his uncle (who was here because of him) was all right. At night, he turned and tossed, trying to fall asleep, but failing. He would be awake half of the night but when he would finally fall asleep, nightmares (yes, nightmares) would plague his mind and refuse him the right of resting.

He was still walking thanks to sheer willpower alone.


End file.
